


Ooh La La

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Dong Bang Shin Ki
Genre: Crossdressing, Homin Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-10
Updated: 2012-02-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 21:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/336446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things are more important than a clean apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ooh La La

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the ‘Changmin in a French maid’s outfit’ prompt on the HoMin kink meme.

Yunho presses up against the door of Changmin’s room, weak with laughter, trying to restrain his hilarity. Beyond the door he can hear the tearing of paper and a few scuffling sounds as Changmin unwraps the box, and then there’s silence. A very long silence. Tears of mirth spring to Yunho’s eyes. He almost can’t keep upright and he slumps against the wall. His stomach hurts. God, this is hysterical already and he hasn’t even _seen_ Changmin yet.

The silence continues. Yunho imagines Changmin’s expression and can’t keep the laughter back any longer. A giggle bursts free, and he clamps both hands over his mouth. If Changmin hears him laughing like a hyena, he won’t come out. He’ll stay in his room for the rest of the day and sulk, and that won’t be any fun at all.

But Changmin clearly hears that one escaped giggle, or else he has x-ray vision and can see Yunho doubled over with laughter, because suddenly he bangs on the other side of the door. “Jung Yunho! I am going to _kill_ you.”

It’s all too much, and Yunho staggers over to the sofa and collapses across it, laughing hysterically.

“I mean it!” Changmin yells from inside his room. “You monumental _dick_ head, what were you thinking?”

Yunho manages to sit up, manages to wheeze through his laughter, “What’s the matter, did I get the wrong size?” 

Changmin kicks at the door. “Bastard, you bastard, I am never playing Scissors-Paper-Stone with you again. I am never going to accept any bet or challenge from you, never ever, not even for variety shows, not under any circumstances, do you hear me?”

Yunho rolls over on the sofa in glee. “But Changminnie, you were the one who made the bet. Slave for a day, you said. Your idea, not mine. And you lost.” 

A furious growling noise comes from behind the door, then, “Best out of twenty-five?” Changmin suggests, and there’s a note of pleading in his voice. 

Yunho bounces on the sofa cushions. “How can you be so ungrateful when I went to all the trouble of buying you such a nice outfit? Suck it up and take your punishment like a man.”

“I hate you,” Changmin snaps. There’s a pause, some more shuffling, and then he says with a touch of uncertainty, “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, right? I _will_ kill you if you do.”

Yunho crosses his fingers. “I won’t tell anyone.” He retrieves his phone from the floor and sets it on the armrest of the sofa. He is totally going to take photos of Changmin in this get-up and he is totally going to send them to the whole of the Kyuline, and maybe to the 86line and a few others as well, and this is going to be the funniest thing _ever_.

“By the way,” Changmin says, sounding a little out of breath, “I am _not_ wearing those shoes. Wearing shoes in the house is wrong.”

“But they’re brand new,” Yunho protests.

“Not wearing the fucking shoes, bro.” Changmin sounds fierce.

Yunho thinks about the shoes, shiny patent peep-toe sandals with sexy straps around the ankles and six-inch heels, and then he considers that, wearing them, Changmin would be almost seven feet tall and that’s kind of terrifying as well as hot. Maybe it’s for the best that the shoes stay in the box.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Don’t wear the shoes. But wear everything else.”

More grumbling from behind the door.

“Hurry up.” Yunho shuffles along the sofa and leans over the armrest to get a good view. He picks up his phone, frames Changmin’s door in the little screen and slides his thumb over the button, ready to take the first picture. “Come on out.”

A pause, and then the door opens. Yunho starts giggling quietly. The phone shakes in his hand, and he tries to get his laughter under control. Blurry photos won’t be as funny. He lines up the shot again, watching the open door through the view-screen.

Changmin puts one leg across the threshold. Points his toes so it looks for a moment like he’s wearing invisible high heels, the muscles all along his leg tensed and smoothed into incredible shapeliness beneath the twenty-denier white stocking. There’s a cute black bow positioned at the stocking-top. The ends of the bow flutter and settle against Changmin’s thigh.

Yunho’s jaw seems to unhinge. His grip tightens on the phone. He clenches it so hard he’s surprised the phone isn’t crushed into pieces. Lust drenches him, arousal instantaneous, his body reacting long before his brain can process what he’s seeing. He struggles to breathe as Changmin sets his foot flat on the floor and the rest of him emerges from behind the door. 

Senses in overdrive, Yunho stares. Unfair, he thinks. This is really fucking unfair. It was supposed to be funny, not the horniest thing he’s seen since—since... he can’t remember. He can barely remember his own name right now, how the hell is he supposed to remember anything else when his vision is filled with such a magnificent sight?

Changmin glides past, self-conscious and straight-backed, his head held high. His gaze flicks to the phone in Yunho’s hand. He doesn’t say anything, but his lips part on a disappointed moue for just a moment. 

Yunho drops the phone, shoves it down the side of the sofa. There’s no way he’s going to risk Changmin bolting back into his room. No way. Changmin has to stay right here where Yunho can see every inch of him in that should-be-stupid-but-is-actually-really-fucking-hot French maid’s outfit.

Changmin comes to a halt in the middle of the room. His hair is brushed forward over one eye. Colour washes across his cheekbones. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he tosses his head, puts a hand on his hip, and slouches his weight through his left leg. 

The pose invites Yunho’s whole attention, and Yunho is only too happy to look, drinking in the long, long legs in their white stockings with the black bows at the top. Oh yeah, he’s totally happy to stare at the amount of bare thigh between the stocking-tops and the frilly black taffeta ruffles of the underskirt. Virginal white lace flirts around the hem of the black satin skirt and dips in a heart shape around the bodice. There’s a silly little white apron tied around his waist and edged with more lace. Two slender satin straps keep the bodice in place while revealing a generous expanse of Changmin’s chest. And then there’s the detachable puffed sleeves, which leave his shoulders bare and fasten around his biceps and flounce out only to be gathered with black ribbons in a sexy ruffle at his elbows. In his right hand he’s holding a cute little feather duster.

Yunho wishes he’d insisted on the shoes. God _damn_.

Obviously flattered by Yunho’s slack-jawed admiration, Changmin adjusts his pose, making his lithe form suggest curves. He looks around the room with some disdain and taps the feather duster against his thigh. “Well, now.”

Shitfuck, that should not be so damn hot. Yunho wants to be a feather in that duster. No, he wants to be the bow on Changmin’s stocking-top. Or the ruffly bits of taffeta on the underskirt. Yunho thinks he might be drooling. He really has to get his libido under control. Control, yes; he’s the boss, he won the bet, Changmin is his slave for the day, Changmin has to do whatever he says.

Yunho puts his hands in his lap. His cock is trying to burn a hole right through his jeans. When he moves even slightly, it’s an exquisite form of torture. He has to unzip and play with himself really fucking soon.

“Where shall I start?” Changmin asks, arching his eyebrows and looking far too haughty for a French maid.

Images of how mouthy girls—uh, boys—should be punished run rampant through Yunho’s head. He’s dying. “Where shall I start, _sir_ ,” he corrects, trying to sound stern.

“Ooh, _sir_.” Changmin’s eyes flash, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “Yes, _sir_ , at once, _sir_.”

Yunho groans. This French maid is too saucy. He points. “Start over there. Clean the shelves. The top ones.”

Changmin dips him a curtsey and whisks away, the stiffened taffeta and white lace and shimmery black satin of his skirts bouncing as he moves. He almost skips over to the shelves—yeah, he actually _skips_ , and Yunho is sure it’s just to make the skirts flutter and bounce some more. Not that he’s complaining, hell no. Just the sight of the back of Changmin’s thighs, all that warm, bare flesh above the cool white of the stockings, is enough to make Yunho want to grab his dick and milk it right now. He presses his hands down on the bulge straining at the front of his jeans and breathes deeply. It’ll be so lame if he shoots his load just from looking at Changmin in a short ruffly skirt. And stockings with cute bows on them. And a feather duster.

Changmin lifts the duster, waves it around. A feather floats free and drifts to the floor. He doesn’t seem to notice, too absorbed in his task. He raises his arm higher, tickles the duster along the back of the shelf. His skirt rides up on one side, offering just a glimpse of the curve of his ass. Yunho leans forward, silently willing Changmin to reach a little higher, and then— _ohhh yes_ —the skirt lifts again and now Yunho can see, nice and snug around Changmin’s bum, a pair of tight white satin panties with ruffled frills across the back.

Yunho almost chokes on his own saliva. He coughs, splutters, and Changmin turns around, his expression halfway between concerned and amused.

“Clean the fucking shelf,” Yunho barks, embarrassed. “Use both hands.”

“What?” Changmin folds his lips together tight, obviously trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know, I don’t clean!” All that hard-won control is slipping away again. Yunho squirms. Bad move. His cock needs urgent attention, like, five minutes ago. “Um,” he says, trying to think straight, “clean the shelf with one hand and—and hold onto the shelf with the other.”

Changmin’s shoulders quiver as he turns away and takes up the requested pose. He stretches up, arching his back a little so his ass thrusts out. “Like this?”

“Fuck, yeah.” Yunho rubs at his cock through the restriction of his jeans. He’s not sure when he became such a masochist but it’s worth it right now. He wants this to last. He can smell his own arousal and it’s turning him on all the more. His breaths come faster as he stares at Changmin industriously cleaning the top shelf, bending and reaching far more than is necessary, his bum swaying and the muscles in his legs flexing beneath the white stockings. 

Yunho wants a closer look. He grabs for the plastic bag on the other end of the sofa and drags out a handful of assorted crap he’s been accumulating in anticipation of this day—empty drinks cans, food wrappers, an odd sock from the back of the washing machine, a pair of boxer-briefs—his, though maybe they’re Changmin’s, he can never tell these days. Yunho gathers it all up and throws it over the floor.

Changmin jumps as the cans clatter and bounce. He turns, the feather duster poised. A look of mild annoyance crosses his face. “Oh, you pig. I hope those are clean.”

“Uh,” says Yunho. “Maybe?”

“Yun _ho_.” Without being prompted, Changmin relinquishes his shelf-dusting and comes to the centre of the room, an expression of vague disgust wrinkling his nose and down-tilting his mouth. He crouches, knees together, and picks up one of the cans.

Yunho whines. “Not like that.”

Changmin glances up at him. Okay, let’s be fair, Yunho thinks—it’s not like this is a _bad_ view, what with the slightly kinky black straps and the sweet puffed sleeves and the way the heart-shaped bodice gapes at the front to provide him with the sight of Changmin’s chest and the barest hint of nipples, but, well... okay, so he’s a pervert, he wants to see Changmin’s ass again.

“Turn around and pick that stuff up,” Yunho says, his tongue heavy.

Changmin gives him another look and shuffles around on his toes so he’s still crouched down and his knees are still close together. He looks like a cute little ball in a froufrou dress, and while this is all very adorable, it is not sexy, and Yunho wants sexy and he wants it _now_.

“Get up,” he orders. “Walk backwards. Come closer to me. Two more steps. Stop. Now lean down and pick that crap up off the floor.”

Changmin leans forward just a little and snatches up some orange peel.

“You’re an evil tease, Shim Changmin,” Yunho says, and it’s the knowledge that Changmin is being a provocative little coquette that really does it for him. He can’t wait a second longer. Yunho unfastens the button on his jeans, pulls at the zipper, and squirms both jeans and underwear down to his knees. The hem of his t-shirt makes contact with the head of his cock and he almost comes right then. Frantic to stave off any kind of premature ejaculation, Yunho yanks his t-shirt over his head and leaves it hooked around the back of his neck. The fabric bites into his armpits, but the suggestion of restraint is kind of hot. But then, everything is kind of hot right now, and the hottest thing of all is Changmin, very sweetly leaning forward to pick up the rubbish scattered across the floor.

Yunho licks across the palm of his hand and grips the base of his cock, then starts to work it. His gaze fastens on Changmin’s bum. The satin panties are stretched tight, cutting into his ass-cheeks the more he bends over.

“Spread your legs even further,” Yunho commands, although it comes out sounding more like a plea. “Yeah. Like that.” His hips tilt and he scrunches his free hand into a fist. He braces his feet on the floor. “Bend right over, Changminnie. Nice and slow. Slower. Oh fuck, yeah, that—that’s good.”

Changmin bends down a bit more, his ass sticking out all round and curvy, the panties riding up into his crack.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Yunho whimpers.

“Yunnie,” Changmin says, his voice all throaty-rough, “are you staring at my ass and jerking off?”

“I would never do that,” Yunho says, his hand moving faster, pleasure building. “I respect you too much to treat you as some kind of masturbatory fantasy.”

Changmin leans his weight through one hip then the other, wriggle and snap, his ass swaying. “Sure you do.”

“Shut up and just stand there. Please.”

“Bunny gonna come?” Changmin singsongs, shaking his ass again.

“Fuck, Changminnie, don’t.” It’s almost hypnotic, the sight of that ass in the frilly panties, and Yunho imagines himself grasping Changmin’s hips and yanking down the scrap of satin and pounding into him, hard and fast and over and over, Changmin impaled and gasping and helpless in his arms.

The mental images are every bit as hot as what’s right in front of him. Yunho comes hard, hot spunk spattering everywhere as he shoots all over himself. “Oh,” he breathes, widening his eyes all innocent-like, “Oh Changminnie, I made a mess. Come and clean me up.”

Changmin straightens. He tosses aside the feather duster as he spins around and catwalks over, hips swaying, ruffled skirts whispering. He looks down at Yunho, a gleam in his eyes. “You’re such a _dirty_ bunny.”

Yunho wants to launch himself off the sofa and fuck Changmin into the ground, but he’s not quite ready to go again. He’ll need help for that, and so he tweaks at the cute black bow on Changmin’s stocking-top and tugs at the taffeta underskirt and growls, “On your knees, you saucy bitch.”

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Changmin says as he kneels down, “straight away, _sir_ ,” and fuck if it doesn’t make Yunho’s cock give an interested, reviving twitch. 

Changmin puts his hands on Yunho’s knees and leans forward, extends his tongue and laps at the ribbons of sticky wet seed draped over Yunho’s torso. He licks and licks and does a very thorough job, making greedy little sounds at the back of his throat the whole time, his fingernails raking lightly up and down the inside of Yunho’s thighs.

“God, your mouth,” Yunho moans. “Why is your mouth so perfect? You can make me hard with it and you can cut me down with it. I love it. I love you. Now suck my dick.”

Changmin dives headfirst into Yunho’s lap.

Yunho sprawls back on the sofa, a delicious languor spreading through his body. He wants to take his time with this, wants Changmin to blow him for hours. Fuck, the sight of Changmin’s lips wrapped around his cock, that sexy mouth stretched wide, the heat and pressure and the teasing scrape of teeth, the flick of tongue into the sensitive slit... Yunho groans and pumps his hips, forcing his cock a little deeper. He kneads at the sofa cushions with both hands, resisting the urge to yank at Changmin’s hair and hold him down.

Something brushes the back of his hand. It’s his phone. A fresh surge of lust stiffens his dick and brings inspiration at the same time. Oh man, he has to get pictures of this, of Changmin dressed in a French maid’s outfit and sucking his cock. Oh yeah, Yunho wants a hundred pictures, a thousand, and he wants to wallpaper his room with them. It’ll just be for him, not for anyone else. Just for him. 

He pulls the phone free of the sofa, holds it up. “Changminnie?”

Changmin glances up and after a brief pause, nods his permission. He draws his lips from the head of Yunho’s dick and, looking into the eye of the camera, presses wet butterfly kisses all the way up the shaft. 

Yunho takes picture after picture, his hands shaking as he gets harder and harder, as the need to rut lodges inside him and everything begins to tighten in anticipation. A few more photos and he’s caught in the fascination of watching himself being pleasured through the view-screen. It’s almost surreal, the way it layers on his arousal, like he’s experiencing something twice over at the same time.

“You’re sexy,” he tells Changmin, voice harsh and hungry. “You are so fucking sexy maybe I should unload in your face.” 

In response, Changmin’s hand goes down, pushes aside the rustling underskirts. He rubs at himself, making little whimpering noises.

“No, baby.” Yunho tosses aside his phone and tugs at Changmin’s hair in punishment. “That’s not allowed.”

Changmin whines, his complaint gagged by the thrust of Yunho’s dick.

“No,” Yunho says again. “You’re going to come on my cock.”

Changmin’s eyes flutter shut, his lips going slack for a moment as an expression of dreamy lust suffuses his face. 

“You want that, huh?” Yunho demands. “You want me fucking your ass?”

Changmin makes an incoherent sound and dribbles down Yunho’s cock. 

Yunho pulls on Changmin’s hair again. “Stand up. Lift your skirt. Let me look at you. Let me see how excited you got while you were sucking me.”

“You’re _such_ a pervert.” Changmin gets to his feet, his lips and chin wet with saliva. He’s blushing furiously, but lifts the ruffles of his skirt anyway, raises the hem of shimmering black satin with its froth of white lace and the crinkle-susurrus of the taffeta underskirts. He stands there exposed, displaying his balls and the hard thrust of his erection stuffed into the tiny panties. 

There’s a fresh stain darkening the white satin. Yunho reaches out, rubs his thumb over the wetness. Tastes it.

“Oh fuck,” Changmin says. His thighs quiver. “Oh please, Yunnie.”

“This,” Yunho says, fondling Changmin’s balls through the taut fabric. “I like this.” He leans forward, nuzzles at Changmin’s cock, inhales the scent of him, clean and hot and desperate. He licks through the panties, makes them all wet, shapes the clinging satin to Changmin’s cock. Changmin gives a keening, urgent cry and clutches at Yunho’s shoulders, half pushing him away, half dragging him closer.

Yunho pulls back and peels the wet panties from Changmin’s hips, drags them down his thighs until they tangle on the cute black bows on the stocking-tops. Changmin swears in frustration and bats at Yunho’s hands, then steps out of the panties and kicks them away across the floor. 

“On my lap,” Yunho says. “Now.”

Changmin straddles him, the taffeta underskirt scratchy across bare skin. He kneels up, hips tilted forward, cock grinding against Yunho’s chest. It’s not the easiest way to do this, but Yunho wants to see Changmin’s face. There’s a feverish, frantic glitter in Changmin’s eyes and he’s still blushing, but now he’s being pushy and demanding, saying things like “Fuck me, fuck me so hard I can’t walk tomorrow, I want you to stick your huge cock in me and make me ride it”, and Yunho is going to give Changmin exactly what he’s begging for. His dick is still wet with Changmin’s saliva; like fuck is he stopping now to fetch some lube.

“It’s good, it’s okay,” Changmin says, voice low and breathy. “Just get inside me. I want to come.”

Yunho grabs a handful of Changmin’s ass and spreads his cheeks. “Do you really think you deserve an orgasm? You did such a bad job of cleaning the apartment.” He slips the head of his cock against Changmin’s hole and thrusts up, sheathing himself in one powerful move.

Changmin gasps, grabs onto Yunho’s shoulders, head going back. “Ah, God. That’s good. That’s more than good.”

“Answer the question.” Yunho fucks into him strong and slow.

“What question?” Changmin slurs, drunk on sex.

“Do,” thrust, “you,” thrust, “deserve,” thrust, “an orgasm?”

Changmin’s body is thrumming with coiled ecstasy. “Yes,” he moans. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Do it,” Yunho orders. “Get yourself off. Come all over me while I fuck you.”

“Oh, oh fuck, oh _Yunho_ —” Changmin wails, riding him hard and fast, letting go with one hand to jerk at his cock with desperate strokes.

Yunho holds onto Changmin’s hips and slams into him. He’s not going to last much longer. Shit, neither of them will. He feels the betraying flutter as Changmin’s orgasm rears up, sees him stricken with tension in the long, drawn-out moments before it starts tumbling towards him, and Changmin cries out, his glorious voice breaking mid-note, and the sound of it just kills Yunho, absolutely slays him, and he comes in thick, shuddery pulses. 

Changmin makes another helpless noise and spurts hot and sweet all over Yunho’s chest, striping pearly spunk up to his throat. Exhausted, Changmin slumps forwards, crushing them together, and when he pulls back there’s glimmers of smeared semen caught in the ruffles and lace of the French maid’s outfit.

They kiss, slow and wet. Changmin curls his fingers around the back of Yunho’s neck; Yunho catches a handful of Changmin’s hair. When they break apart, Changmin is breathless and smiling, his face flushed and his expression wrecked with pleasure. He eases himself off Yunho’s softening cock and grimaces at the spill of seed down the inside of his thighs, then laughs as it soaks into his stocking-tops. 

“That was fun.” Changmin sounds surprised and happy and, most importantly, satisfied. “I thought you were being a gigantic asshole with the whole costume choice and everything, but that was _fun_.”

Yunho decides not to admit that he’d intended it as a joke, because as far as the comedy went, it totally backfired. Not that he has any complaints with how things turned out. In fact, come to think of it... 

He grins and leans closer, leering at Changmin. “If you thought that was good, baby, just wait till you see the outfit I’m going to make you wear this afternoon.”


End file.
